


As You Wish,  Milady

by Jubalii



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Birthday Sex, F/M, Femdom, First Time Topping, Fluff and Smut, I Tried, Light Bondage, Sorry Not Sorry, i have sinned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 19:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: After reading a new book, Eve gets an idea and Barnham is all too happy to serve his sweetheart on her special day.





	1. Prologue

It was a book that gave her the idea.

Home alone, the latest of a small stack of dime store paperbacks she’d picked up on a trip to London in her hands. 280 pages of cheap, seedy, brown pulp smut in the form of one highly beautiful, highly accomplished Ms. Miranda Weatherby, who discovers that her new CEO is an ex-lover. An ex-lover with eyes like sapphire sky and a strong jaw line who— for lack of a better term— becomes an oasis in the barren, sandy desert that is the accountant’s ovaries. It’s got typos and the plot’s been repeated in at least five other novels that she owns, but it’s still something to read on a lazy Saturday while waiting for her own significant other to come back from the mainland with Mr. Cantabella.

As the afternoon passes, the all-too-heroic Ms. Weatherby is seduced by handsome CEO in typical romance novel fashion, culminating in a candlelit dinner that, judging by its place in the book, will precede the first bout of sex. But when the unavoidable scene came where the two were necking in the elevator of the hotel (located next door for convenience), she was caught off-guard. Weatherby, who isn’t the greenhorn lover she was the last time she and Sky Eyes got it on, turns the tables on him.

Sitting up from her reclining position on the sofa, she read with wide eyes as the heroine ties Mr. CEO up with his own belt, slaps him for daring to kiss her before she gave the O-K, holds him down to the bed and rides him for all she’s worth. She read. She closed the book, processed, opened, and read again. She blushed, bit her thumbnail, winced, and grinned in the same three paragraphs. At the end, he’s a quivering pile of mush and she finally manages to kick off her black heels before untying him in time for pillow talk and fancy wine. She marked the pages to read again later.

Shutting the book, a sudden thought popped into her mind, unbidden and yet not unwanted. _I have black heels._ It was immediately followed by a replay of the scene, but busty blonde Weatherby and her brunette male weren’t the main actors. She immediately tried to banish it, but it was too late—she was lost to full-on fantasy mode of what she could, theoretically, do to her own lover. Just the thought of him begging her to let him kiss her ‘breathlessly, with the wild abandon of a thirsty man pleading for water’ had her squirming in anticipation.

_But that would never work._

For one thing, he’s always initiated everything. Ever. Even from the very first time, though she wholeheartedly agreed to it, she’s never once asked _him_ for sex. And when they _were_ intimate, it was… not boring, per say, but the same. Expected. It didn’t help that what she learned about birds and bees came from the awkward teachings of the secondary school teacher and the even more awkward conversation her father forced her—and himself—to suffer through. Though, admittedly, the latter was shorter and had even less to do with females as much as it was a warning against the untamed male, their hormones, and how they’d ‘throw themselves at her’. As if that actually happened. The truth was that her father held her on a very high pedestal.

And how would she even bring up that sort of conversation? She’d _have_ to talk it over with him, because the thought of just one-upping him in the bedroom without any warning, well…. While good for Weatherby, it just didn’t sit well with her. And it would save any questions or concerns he had, and possibly bring up ones she didn’t even know she had. But just the talking, the saying ‘hey, let’s try—’ was daunting enough in her mind, much less doing it in person. They didn’t talk about such things, other than his asking, her agreeing or disagreeing, and the inevitable post-coital affirmation that what they’d just done was indeed _nice_.

She thought on it as afternoon spilled over into evening. She convinced herself to talk about it on the sofa. She changed her mind as she fed Constantine. She changed it back while putting a potato in the oven for her own supper. She was dead-set against it when feeding the horses and cleaning the stable. She was all for it when taking her nightly bath and shaping her nails. Then, sitting on the sofa once more in her nightgown and slippers, she admitted to herself that she had no clue _how_ she felt, other than the fact that she was torn between wanting what she’d read and wanting him to be comfortable.

Even more, she didn’t want him to laugh at her.

“E-ve!” She’d thought the day away, and now he was home. Her hesitance was overridden, however temporarily, by the fact that she hadn’t seen him in a business week; she rose to greet him as he entered the sitting room. He dropped his bag at the threshold, sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her forehead chastely before burying his face in her hair. “You miss me?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Yes. Did you?” Another kiss was her answer and then he pulled away, grinning down at her. He smelled of ocean and petrol, the not-entirely-unpleasant aroma masking his usual scent. She went back to the sofa and he joined her on the opposite side, letting his limbs fall where they may as he let out a deep breath of relief and exhaustion. “Long day?”

“I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. The Stor—Mr. Cantabella had two more meetings to go to before heading to the pier, and ‘twas I who had to stand in for bodyguard and valet alike.” He cracked his neck. “What did you do today?” Here it was: an opening. She cleared her throat, looking down at her lap. Would she have the courage?

“I read.” She bit her lip, but forced her teeth to let it go. When she did, the next part spilled out on its own. “It was interesting. It gave me an idea.”

“Oh?” He turned to her. “What sort of book? Did you pick up a new hobby while I was gone?” It was a vaguely amusing thought, and she managed a smile when she shook her head. The book was still lying on the side table, and she picked it up and held it tentatively in her hands. It was such a harmless thing, flimsy paperback and highly tacky with the two models intertwined in such a suggestive fashion, but it held such weight at the moment. She still could refuse to show it to him, to say ‘never mind’ and make him leave the thought be, but… she swallowed. If not now, when? And besides, he’d held her hair up when she’d had food poisoning after a festival, watched her slip and fall into the lake immediately after boasting about her light-footedness—hell, he’d even used the bathroom while she was bathing. There wasn’t much he _hadn’t_ seen, since he spent the night often enough that it could safely be said they lived together. Surely he wouldn’t laugh, if he didn’t laugh at any of the other things.

“It was… this.” She flashed the cover at him, letting him look a good long moment before putting it back.

“O- _ohh_ ….” He trailed off in knowing silence before licking his lips. “Hnn… I see.” Another pause, shorter than before, and then he smiled. “Nice to know you were thinking of me, Eve. You weren’t _too_ lonely, were you?”

“No lonelier than you were, I expect.” 

“Hnn,” he hummed again. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me? Your idea,” he clarified when she stared blankly. “Or would you rather show me?” he offered, trying for a sultry smirk that was more tired than sexy.

“N-no, not yet.” She picked at a thread on the sofa. “Y-you might not like it.”

“Huh?” He tilted his head, the expression one of slight bewilderment. “Not like… _that_?” He did chuckle then, shaking his head at the thought. “’Tis impossible. With you, at least,” he added as an afterthought.

“In the book—” She looked at it, suddenly tongue-tied. “Here.” She picked it back up, flipping to the dog-eared page she’d marked earlier. “Just read all of that.” He took it hesitantly, staring again at the front cover before obediently smoothing the page with his hand as he read. He took longer than she did, and the wait seemed unbearable as he flipped one page, than another. His eyebrows rose and to her surprise, his cheeks actually darkened at more than one place. When he was through, he looked up at her wonderingly.

“I had no idea these were so… graphic,” he stated. “A-are they all—”

“It varies,” she explained, taking it back quickly and nearly throwing it onto the end table. “B-but… what did you think?”

“Uhm.” He looked at the wall, scratching his head. “Hot.”

“What?”

“I mean, it was,” he paused, and she wondered if he was searching for an Olden Times word that would better explain his meaning. “Hot,” he repeated at length with a shrug.

“But what if it were us?” Their eyes met, her fingers still plucking at the thread, his tracing the pattern on the back cushion.

“What if it were?” She looked away first.

“Would you… object?”

“You want to dominate me?” _Blunt as always_.

“I—I’d like to try. Yes.” She licked at the corner of her mouth, resisting the urge to gnaw at her fingernails. “But… but what if you don’t like it?”

“What if _you_ don’t?”

“I—” She stopped, having not considered the fact that she might be the one to call it all off. “I guess… we’d stop.”

“Mmhmm.” She stared down at her lap, jerking slightly when he reached over and took her hand. “Look, ‘tis not like either of us have ever—I mean, we try cooking new things together all the time, right?”

“Yes…?”

“And if we don’t like it, we don’t eat it all and just go back to foods we both enjoy.” She caught his meaning and tried to smile.

“Same difference?”

“Same difference.”

 “…Well, if you’re really alright with this….”

“Let’s try it.” He gave her his most persuasive, dazzling grin. “And, if I might make a suggestion?”

“W-what?” To her astonishment, he began to blush and squeezed her hand even harder, mumbling under his breath. “What? I can’t hear you.”

“Glasses.” He cleared his throat. “Wear your… glasses.” He caught her eye and reddened from the roots of his hair down to his shirt collar. “Erm—that is—you look so—I always wanted to ask, and since we were already—you don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll do it.”


	2. Finish Him

            The door. That was him. 

            There was a clatter of keys and the clomping of footsteps to… the kitchen, by the faint rustle of butcher paper and the _thunk_ of a basket. She licked her lips.  He’d stopped by the market on his way in, she surmised. It did account for his twenty or so minutes’ delay.

            “Eve?” She took a deep breath. “Are you in?” There was still time to turn back, to hide all her thinking and doings from him. Her hands fisted in the coverlet, fingers feeling the soft yarn of the knitted blanket Mrs. Eclaire had given her this past Christmas. _No_ , she thought definitively. _I won’t change my mind._ There would be no turning back—they’d talked about it nearly a month ago, and it was time to act.

She resisted the urge to look at the mirror and judge her reflection. It was, perhaps, better to not know. She kept her gaze steady on the door.

            “ _Eve_?” He was closer: at the foot of the staircase, perhaps. She cleared her throat, tried to call out to him, but nothing came. Taking another deep breath, she managed to force sound from her throat by sheer willpower.

            “Up here!” she called back, hoping it didn’t sound too shaky or alarming. She didn’t need him busting down the door in an effort to protect her from any imagined terror. There was a pause, then the slap of his sandals on the stairs, in the hallway, outside the door. She crossed her legs, setting her face in the expression she’d spent the better part of the afternoon practicing and hoping to her lucky stars, to God, to _anyone_ that she didn’t look half as foolish as she felt. Despite the fact that she’d called for him, he still knocked twice on the door in rapid succession.

            “You’re decent?” She couldn’t answer for that.

            “Come in,” she invited, trying hard to keep the tremble out of her voice.

            “You’ll never believe the news I’ve just heard from—” He stopped short and stared. _Hard_.

 She swallowed, fighting to keep her eyes open instead of letting them slide shut from bashfulness. He didn’t meet them; she knew his attention was elsewhere. On her body, clad only in her panties and a shirt, _his_ shirt, rolled up to her elbows, unbuttoned, and offering a tantalizing glimpse of nude breasts and flat stomach. Her hair spread over her shoulders, tumbling to meet the coverlet and framing her face. Her reading glasses— why refuse to grant his wish, when he was granting hers?—resting on her nose.

“Hello there,” she purred, or _tried_ to at least. It sounded odd, and if his mouth hadn’t gone slack at the words she’d have dropped the business entirely.

“U-uhm?” 

“Shut the door.” She motioned to it with her foot, his eyes catching the action and following the curve of her calf back up to her waist, where they stuck fast on the plain black cloth of her underwear. 

“Uhm…” He never was eloquent in his speech, and now what ability he had seemed to be rendered void.

“Is something wrong?” His mouth moved soundlessly at the question, brows levering as he worked through several expressions and settling on both awe and bewilderment. “Zacharias?” He jerked to life at the sound of his name, shutting the door in record time and standing with his back against it, hand blindly seeking the stability of the knob as he continued to openly gape.

Squashing the eye roll that threatened to come out of her, she sat in place and waited for his brain to catch up. He wasn’t stupid, but she had noticed long ago that around her, it ran at half speed whenever she showed more than just her shoulders. She supposed that it must be a compliment, or that he at least found her more attractive than other women; still, it was hard to have a serious conversation whenever she emerged from the bathroom after a shower and he was completely star struck. _You’d think after seeing me unclothed as often as he has, the novelty would have worn off by now._ Finally, after an eternity—or, more precisely, 153 ticks of the clock on the bedside table—he gulped.

“Eve, w-what’s going on?” he asked in a faint whisper, expression suggesting that he was more than fine to let the whatever-this-was continue for the foreseeable future. “Is this… _it_?” She smiled at him, trying a suggestive look that she wasn’t entirely sure she could pull off; she must have succeeded well enough, as she was fairly sure his knees buckled beneath him and he’d have slid to the floor without the door at his back. _Is he that affected?_ She considered it in amusement, seeing his hand renew its search for the doorknob.

“You do remember that today is my birthday, do you not?” she asked sweetly, beckoning him closer with one finger. She swore she saw his spirit leave his body for a minute, every limb slumping against the door before separating from it with a great effort. He took a few tentative steps forward, testing his legs’ ability before standing an arm’s length from her seat at the foot of the bed.

“Of course,” he replied slowly, eyes resting on the teasing glimpse he got of her chest before tearing away to meet hers. “I’d never forget _your_ day,” he added unnecessarily. “In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of—” She shushed him and he literally chomped on his words, swallowing them back before watching her with growing suspicion. “W-why do you ask?” She let the silence stretch between them, her foot bobbing along in time with the clock. No need to let him start babbling and get lost trying to explain why he’d never forget any day as important as the one his girlfriend was born on. Not to mention he had it circled on their calendar in the kitchen and had gone so far as to doodle her head in the space, squished into the corner below ‘Get Milk’ and ‘Bakery 10-3’.

“It’s my birthday,” she repeated at length. “And on my birthday, what I say goes, correct?” He managed a nod and a shrug at the same time, brow wrinkling as he smiled in apparent confusion.

            “You say what goes every day—” He hesitated. “But of course, I won’t argue with you on the day of your birth,” he corrected himself when he saw a shadow cross her face.

            “I’ll amend that, Sir Knight.” She uncrossed and switched legs. “On my birthday, _I_ say what happens and _you_ don’t object to my wishes.”

            “Sir—” Something dawned in his eyes and he looked her over again, this time curiously. “Aye,” he said slowly, as though second-guessing whatever realization he’d come to. “… _Milady_.” His hands snuck up to his collar and he made to shed his overshirt, but her foot landing solidly on his diaphragm stopped the action.

            “Just _what_ are you doing?” she asked lightly, tapping her toes against his chest. The confusion redoubled.

            “Taking off—I thought—” he faltered, forehead knitting even more as he tried to decide exactly what they were doing, as well as his part in the matter.

            “Did I request that you take off your clothes?” she continued, one brow arching as she dipped her head and looked at him over the rims of her glasses. He shook his head, hands slowly slipping from the collar to hang at his sides. Now he merely looked discontented. “Tell me, Barnham.” She took her foot away and re-crossed her legs, her face a mask of solemn thought. “Who did you answer to as head of the Inquisition?”

            “You,” he replied readily, but she shook her head.

            “No, specifically.” His mouth opened, and then he grinned.

            “The Storyteller.”

“ _Immediately._ ” She ought to have known he’d get mischievous at some point. He made it a bad habit.

“To… to High Inquisitor Darklaw, of course.”

“And if High Inquisitor Darklaw had asked you to unclothe yourself in front of her, what would you have said?” He blinked uncertainly at her, shifting on the spot.

            “I’d probably have asked if I’d heard her correctly, and then questioned her mental health.” She bit back a laugh.

            “So you disrobe for Eve Belduke without invitation, but draw the line at your former superior?” He _did_ laugh, more at her false incredulity than anything else.

            “I have more reason to believe that Eve Belduke would welcome the sight; in fact, I have it on good authority that she thinks me to be quite handsome.”

            “She does no such thing.”

            “Does she not?” He gave her a heated glance, and she was thankful that she had a good poker face, despite how it made her melt… just a little. “Are you certain?”

            “Quite.” She stood, making sure that the two sides of the shirt wouldn’t fall open. “Don’t move,” she said, when he began to reach for her. “ _I_ have it on better authority that physical beauty plays no part in the role of a knight. If it did, half the men would have no position of power at all.” He muffled a snort. “Other things take precedence, don’t they? Why don’t you tell me, Sir Barnham?” She poked one finger at the small of his back. “Stand up straight before your commanding officer.”

            “My _what_?”

            “If I say what goes, then for today at least, I’m your _commanding officer_.” She made a full circle and stood before him, not letting the difference in height deter her from attempting to loom. “And your officer has given you orders. So stand straight, or face the consequence.” He eased himself into the proper position, a simple shifting of muscles and mindset. “What traits must a knight possess?”

            “Strength and Stability, Patience and Perseverance, Fortitude and Faithfulness.” He rattled off the old training creed habitually, the words seared into his mind after months of repeating them before and after every inductee exercise. “Mind and Body in sync; we are a gear in the machine of the Inquisition, and the Inquisition is neither more nor less a sum of its gears.”

            “Mmm…. Are you strong?”

“I should like to think so.” She was behind him again, running the tips of her fingers up his left bicep and feeling the tensed muscle. He was strong, strong enough to lift her over his head (proving a point to Espella), strong enough to stop a runaway cart and come out with a bruised shoulder when his arm should have been ripped from him, strong enough to knock a man out with one punch and then carry his unconscious body across town to Jean Greyerl. “Eve, what is _this_ about?” 

            “Are you stable?” she asked, ignoring him for the moment. He let out a short puff of breath that sounded close to a laugh.        

            “I’m mental,” he sang, and she slapped him across the back of the head. “Ow! What was that for?!”

            “Would you have said that to the High Inquisitor?” she growled.

“I just did!” Well, he had her there. “Eve. Milady.” He turned before she could stop him. “Is something—the matter?” He looked at her expectantly. _D-damnit, he knows I can’t look him in the eye when he’s staring at me like that!_ She looked away, fighting to keep control of her expression.

“I suppose I should ask if… if you still want to do this.” She turned away quickly, pushing the glasses up her nose. “You can say no.”

“Do you think I want to say no?”

“I—well, I don’t know. Do you?” she peered at him over her shoulder. “We can still just… do the birthday thing. By itself.”

“But it’s your day,” he reiterated. When she didn’t answer, he fell out of position and walked over to where she stood, grabbing both her hands in his. “Eve.” he waited until she looked up at him. “If this is something that will make you happy, then I’m more than willing to try it. You don’t have to be shy. I _want_ you to be happy.”

“It’s just, this all feels so… pssh.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t know. I feel foolish.”

“I can’t say how you feel, but you _look_ amazing.” She scoffed, and he reached out to brush her cheek with his fingertips. “Beautiful… you’re always so beautiful…” He traced the lower edge of her frames.

“Is it the glasses?” she teased softly, trying to suppress the shiver that ran over her whenever he ‘accidentally’ brushed her lips with his hand. “Did you always—like me when I wore them?”

“Not always, but more often than not.” She reached up around his hand and took them off. Now he looked disappointed… and slightly blurred. “Nnng…But—”

“I’ll put them back on if you’re a dutiful knight.” She brushed his fingers off as they trailed back down near her ear. “Maybe I ought to tie those wandering hands of yours…” She left it an open-ended suggestion.

            “But how would I touch you?” he half-whined, hand falling back to his side. She took her time in pulling apart the knot of his ascot, running her nails along the sensitive skin of his neck and pretending not to notice when he squirmed. Wrapping the cloth in one hand, she walked around him at an agonizing pace. Taking the time to feel the muscles in his arms again, she gently pulled at his overshirt and let it fall between them. Eyeing the tighter undershirt beneath, clinging to every inch of skin, she bit her lip, happy that he couldn’t see her behind him. She tugged the hem and untucked it from his pants, making sure to cover every inch of his chest with a feather-light touch as she helped him pull it over his head. When it was off, she ran her hands back down his shoulders to his wrists, delighting in the little half breaths he took in an effort to control his body’s reactions. Wanting to push him further, she rose to her tiptoes and pressed her body against his back, kissing his shoulder.

He trembled beneath her.

            “You don’t need to touch me,” she whispered, lips teasing his ear. “Put your hands behind your back for me.”

            “ _Eve_ …”

            “Milady will do fine,” she reminded him with a chuckle. “You do want to be a proper knight and get your reward, don’t you?”

            “Y-yes, milady.”

            “Good boy.” She nipped his earlobe before falling away, tying his hands behind his back with efficiency. “Why do you feel the need to touch me in the first place?” she asked, half with genuine curiosity and half just to see if his voice shook when he spoke.

            “Well, because you’re soft. And warm. And smooth. And your chest is…” he twisted his mouth, searching for a word. “Squishy.”

            “S- _squ_ —” She nearly broke character, her fingers slipping on the knot.

            “Not in a bad way. I could just feel them forever. And you seemed to like it… milady.”

            “Watch that cheek, Sir Knight.” She gave the ascot a final tug. “Too tight?” she asked, rubbing his arms. He tested the bonds, wiggling his shoulders and flexing his fingers before shaking his head. “Good. Now,” she continued, tracing his pants line as she walked around the other side. “Besides being _squishy_ —”

            “’Tis not that I meant ill by it!” he complained, frowning. “I only—” She let the shirt fall from her shoulders and pool at her feet, satisfied when he stopped mid-sentence to stare with wide eyes.  

            “Yes?” He managed to close his mouth and shook his head. “Well, then, resume the position, Sir Knight.” He managed to straighten up. “Tell me again: what is your creed?”

            “Strength and Stability, Patience and Perseverance, Fortitude and F-faithfulness.”

            “Where were we? Ah, yes. Are you patient, Sir Barnham?” She stepped close, trying to ignore how his eyes were glued to her chest. “You’ve got a hot head, I remember that much. Perhaps not so patient as you would like?”

            “I-I believe I demonstrate patience at this moment, milady.” He licked his lips. “Wouldn’t you say?”

            “You call standing still being patient?” she laughed. “Pray tell: what would you rather be doing, that this requires patience?”

            “I have permission to speak freely?”

“This once. Go ahead.”

            “I’d rather have you on top of that bed, screaming my—”

            “ _Stop_!” she cut him off, blushing. He fell silent, the nervous look on his face slowly being replaced by a smug expression that spoke for itself. “Kneel before me. Now,” she demanded, when he hesitated. It took him a moment to find his center of gravity, and then he dropped to a less than elegant kneel. Stomping behind him once more, she turned her eyes to the ceiling, surprised that she was taking a leaf out of the town hussy’s book as she slammed her bare foot in the middle of his back, forcing him down lower. He let out a yelp of surprise, thrown off as she— for lack of a better term— stepped on him. 

            “For your impertinence,” she hissed, applying just steady enough pressure that she was sure he could fight back if he felt the need to. A warm chuckle vibrated her foot and she pressed a little harder. “Don’t laugh!” she exclaimed, close to breaking whatever voice she had going herself. He grunted, stilling before clearing his throat.

            “Forgive me,” he murmured in a tone she was used to hearing directed at the Storyteller. “It won’t happen again.” A beat. “But you _did_ say that I might speak freely.”

            “A decision I regret. It _won’t_ happen again, to be sure.” She pressed just a little harder, seeing the appeal that Foxy must recognize. There was something strangely… moving… _arousing_ … about pushing him farther to the ground, her heel digging into his back. A thrill of excitement ran through her and she bit her lip, twisting just a little. There was no change in breathing, no sound, even though she knew that he must have felt it keenly on his spine. _Well, I asked for a proper knight and here he is, stoic in the face of discomfort._

            “Tell me, Sir Barnham. Where is your _perseverance?_ ” He pushed back, slowly at first as not to upset her balance and send her tumbling. Then, certain that she was aware of the motion, he shifted until one foot was beneath him and slowly fought his way back into a proper kneel. “Good. Stand up.” She removed her foot and was back in front of him by the time he’d struggled to a stand, breathing heavily as his abs began to feel the strain. “N—well, what’s this?” She put a hand on her hip, pointing slyly at the growing bulge in his pants. He looked down, as if unsure as to what she was referring, and then back up. His face was an emotionless mask, the kind the knights adopted during harsh training sessions.

            “I’m not sure what you mean, milady.” She sniffed, fighting back a laugh as she ran her finger just below his pants line. Other than a tightening of his stomach, she might not have been touching him at all, he was so unaffected. Or so it seems, she smiled to herself, her fingers sliding over the bulge and feeling the rough denim. She could see his hands balling into fists in the reflection of the dresser mirror and smirked.

            “Did you like me hurting you, Sir Barnham? I think you might have liked it a little too much….” She teased him, scratching at the coarse fabric with the barest touch. His breathing began to loose some of its steadiness, but he remained still as concrete.

            “A knight doesn’t take into account his own likes and dislikes. Only the whims of his lord,” he paused, looking at her, “or _lady_ , matter.”

            “You better hope I don’t grow tired of you, then.” She rubbed him fully with long, slow strokes until his eyes slid shut, jaw twitching. “But that’s part of _faithfulness_ , isn’t it? Are you faithful to your lady?”

            “A-aye,” he croaked, his lips pressing into a thin line as his hips gave the smallest jerk. “Always. No one could come close to—” He stopped with a gasp as she slid her hand beneath his pants to feel him through his undergarments. “E— _milady_ —”

            “Fortitude,” she murmured, keeping her motions purposefully slow. “You can’t finish before me, Sir Knight.” Not that he ever had, barring the first time she ever used her mouth. “I’ve come to expect much better of you.”

            “N-no, of course not.” He swallowed, voice warm and husky. “I wouldn’t do you such a disservice, my lo—my lady.”

            “Well…”she resisted the urge to hide her face against his chest, feeling something warm inside. “Still, you can say it all day long, but we’ll see.”

            “Allow me to show you.” She looked up at his reddening face, his hips rocking ever so slightly in time with her hand. “Let me prove my devotion.”

            “An oath?” she asked, somewhat confused. That was what the Knights did to prove their loyalty to the Storyteller.

            “Let me kneel before you again,” he pleaded. “Please.”

            “Oh, fine.” She looked around before sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight and eyes glinting as the town’s leader sat during the swearing-in ceremonies. He knelt before her, as was custom. Her legs moved apart just enough for him to rest his torso against the mattress and she nearly complained about him being so close, until she caught his gaze. The yearning she saw there froze her, all her words falling away as he kissed her gently, mouth moving over hers firmly in lieu of his hands holding her face still.   

           “I swear,” he whispered to her lips, moving down to her neck, “to be faithful to this woman,” her collarbone, “for all my days,” her left breast, “in all seasons,” now the right, “in all weather,” her stomach, tongue dipping at her navel, “and with the utmost loyalty I can offer,” even lower, to her waistband, “even unto my death.” He paused at her thighs. “And you _will_ be the death of me.” He looked up only when her hand tangled in his hair, fingers tight around the fiery locks. “Please, allow me.” Even when asking permission, there’s still something so risqué and—to use his own words, _hot_ —about it all.

            “If you insist,” she found herself saying in a barely audible voice. “But let me take these off first; I don’t want any tears from you trying to take them off with your teeth.” He backed away long enough for her to shimmy out of the black panties, eyeing them longingly as she threw them somewhere behind her.

            “Milady,” he rasped, shifting as his eyes met hers again. “Do you accept my allegiance?” he prompted, falling back on ceremony once more. She forced her fingers to relax before she tore his hair out by accident.

            “I do.” The words hadn’t fully left her mouth before he buried his face between her thighs. She let out a strangled gasp as he wasted no time, his skillful tongue arousing her almost effortlessly. She nearly fell back on the bed, one shaking arm supporting herself as she grit her teeth to muffle the sounds of her pleasure, pressing him closer with the hand on his head. Even without the use of his arms, he somehow managed to press her down and keep her pinned to the bed; it was no time before she felt the orgasm building inside of her.

            “W-wait,” she moaned breathlessly, trying to push him back before it was too late. “St— _oh_!” It hit her like a wave, choking her startled scream as her toes curled and her head fell back. _I think… that was a new record_ , she thought hazily, more amazed that he’d gotten her to come faster with his mouth alone than he did when he used his hands as well. She felt him kiss his way back up her body and winced when his foot slipped, his full weight falling on her.

            “Ah, oops.” He rolled off her, trying to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. She blinked at the ceiling, letting her limbs settle before turning to face him. “Did that… erm… help crush any qualms?”    

            “The only thing you crushed was me.” He grinned. “But I think one more test is in order before I can safely say that I trust your devotion.”

            “One more?” He eyed her, offering a sultry wink. “No need to ask twice, milady—”

            “Not so fast.” She hoisted herself from the bed. “Stand.” He gave her a rather baleful look before kicking out his legs and doing an elongated sit up to get himself off the bed. She swiftly unzipped him, drawing his pants and underwear down and then steadying him so that he could step out of them before helping him kick off the sandals. He was hard, but she resisted teasing him further until she finalized her plans. She pointed to the headboard instead.

“Get up there and sit.” She walked back to the dresser and picked up the glasses, the bed squeaking as he fought his way up to the top of the mattress with an odd, front-facing crab walk. “Get comfortable,” she warned, slipping the glasses back on before turning to face him. His shoulders were pressed against the headboard, and at the sight of her with the glasses his erection twitched, a new flush spreading across his cheeks.

            She purposefully ignored him, grabbing the pillow from her side of the bed and tucking it beneath his lower back to keep it from getting strained. He tried to adjust his hands beneath his body, watching warily as she climbed on the bed. She reached out and traced up one leg, tickling his inner thigh and stopping before she reached the apex.

            “You still have to prove your worth as a _dutiful_ knight,” she reminded him lightly, rubbing back and forth. “You’re privledged, did you know?” She moved her hand to his stomach, playing with the soft skin. “You’re about to be used by the most beautiful lady in the land.”

            “I—”

            “No talking.” She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, biting back a moan as her sensitized flesh ran across his length. “No moving, no touching, no kissing, no talking. Just lie back and enjoy it,” she laughed. “It’s my birthday, and I’ll do as I please without your input.” He frowned, but said nothing. “If you’re good and obedient, I _might_ let you join in later on.” She paused, hovering over him. “In fact, I might not need you at all. I’m perfectly capable of pleasuring myself.” His brow furrowed further. “Unless… you _want_ me to use you.”

            “I—as milady wishes. I have no say.”

            “Say it.”

            “I-what?” He stared up uncomprehendingly.

            “Say “I want you to use me, milady.” Otherwise, I might as well untie you right now.” His eyes widened, mouth falling open. “Well?”

            “I… want…” His mouth twisted as he mumbled, looking away from her.     

            “I can’t hear you. You must want to be untied.”

            “Iwantyoutouseme.”

            “Was that even in English, Sir Barnham?” His jaw worked and he averted her gaze.

            “I… want you… to… use…me.” His hips shifted beneath her, this time in embarrassment.

            “Who?”

            “M-milady.”

            “ _Good_ ,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “Good boy. So good…” she whispered to his skin, licking her way down his neck. She relished the rumbling moans in his chest, his embarrassment giving way to arousal and keeping his body flushed and warm. She bit down on his shoulder, tasting the sweat and leaving a mark. By the third bite, his sounds were more audible, his body beginning to writhe involuntarily as he pressed up into her mouth and sought more.

            “No, no; don’t move, no sound.” Her tongue flicked over his nipple. “Remember your fortitude.” His teeth clicked together as he clenched his jaw, expression helpless with want even though the light of challenge still gleamed in his eye. She continued her ministrations until his upper body was covered in red marks, some of them already beginning to darken into what would surely be a bruise tomorrow. He was shaking with the force of keeping himself steady, lips pressed together until they were bloodless and eyes screwed shut.

            “Want more?” she mocked, nuzzling his ribs before running her teeth over them. He opened his mouth to answer, only to shut it again and arch a brow, one eye opening just enough to peer at her. _Damn, he didn’t fall for it_. A cattish grin curled across her lips and she resettled herself on him, this time reaching between them to guide him inside her. Even fighting as hard as he could, a quiet groan still managed to escape as she took the full length of him, pausing to let herself adjust with her hands splayed on his chest.

            Admittedly, they’d never done it this way before. He’d always been on top, and she was unused to the difference in position. She tested her own leg strength, rising up tentatively before easing herself back down. Her fingernails bit into his skin and his head fell back to rest against the headboard, eyes opening to watch her as she tested different angles. Finally, she found the one that was _perfect_ , her own eyes sliding shut as she began to move with a better rhythm. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she let herself get rough, willing to leave him bruised. Little whimpers escaped as she rode him, her legs aching in a pleasant way and hair beginning to stick with sweat to her back.

            “Tell me again,” she managed to say as the pressure began to build once more. “Am I beautiful to you, Sir B-Barnham?” He’d been watching her silently, his hips pressing down into the mattress—in an effort to keep from thrusting, she assumed—and his steady gaze locked on her face.  

“So beautiful,” he assured her, his voice tight. “Too beautiful…”

“What?” She began to pant, the muscles in her legs really starting to burn.

“You’re too beautiful for a fool like me,” he laughed shakily. “I don’t deserve anything as good as—” She rotated her hips, trying to save her legs further damage, and he groaned loudly. “Oh, Eve, I-I love you!” he blurted.

“Y-you _what_!?” It wasn’t that it was unwelcome news, but—of all the times to say it for the _first_ time, he chose now? Of course, looking down at his startled and mortified face, she realized he might not have actually _chosen_ the time. However, he licked his lips and nodded.

“I love you,” he repeated, just as breathlessly as before. “S-so much.” Staring down into his eyes, a warm rush flooded her, centered at her heart and spreading through every nerve in her body until she was certain she’d burn up with it. She swallowed hard, shivering despite the heat.

“Zacharias…” she breathed, feeling that she held something delicate, fragile in that moment. She wormed her arms around his neck and held his head to her chest. “Zacharias, I l-love—” She couldn’t finish, emotion holding her words back until she could only kiss the top of his head and fight back the lump in her throat. He pulled back and let her kiss him properly, slick skin slipping until they were both lying back on the bed, propped up only by the pillows.

“Go on, finish it out,” he said, lips tickling hers. “ _Milady_.” She nodded, renewing the jagged rhythm as best she could in the new position. He raised his brows in silent query and she nodded, shifting until he could get one leg up for leverage. He began to meet her thrusts, the room falling silent save for their heated breaths and soft moans that grew together in volume more quickly than either of them really wanted.

“I know—you said—not to finish bef— _bef_ ore you—but—” he managed to huff, nuzzling into her neck as she bent lower over him. “Just—a warning.”

“I’ve technically—already—once.” She paused, letting him do the work as she caught her breath. Her legs were going to feel like hell tomorrow, she could tell. But it was worth to see the excitement on his face, the push of his biceps as he fought against the bonds. “But I— _Zach_!” she squeaked in alarm as he nearly unseated her, eyes determined. _Perseverance_ , she thought, but thinking was quickly becoming too hard. She ground down against him, scratching his back and shoulders as she attempted to regain some sort of hold. “Zach, I—Zacharias!” She muffled her voice against his neck, only half aware of screaming in his ear as her entire body shook, clenching around him. She clung to him helplessly, shuddering as the best orgasm she’d had in ages worked its way through her. She barely registered the fact that he was growling her name, body jerking as he joined her.

For a long moment they both just lay together, still joined and panting unevenly, his cheek against hers and her hair plastered over both of them. Then he shifted with a wince and she sat up quickly, sliding off of him and helping him to sit up as well. She silently untied him, rubbing his arms gently and working the tense muscles in a sort of pseudo-massage. He cleared his throat after a moment and lay back down, tugging her down with him and resting his ear over her heart. She ran her fingers through his damp hair, brushing her bangs off her forehead and letting her body relax. The world was quiet, suspended in time.

“I love you,” she finally whispered to the ceiling after what seemed like eons. He turned his head just enough to kiss her shoulder. “Thank you,” she added, slipping the glasses off her nose and throwing them listlessly onto the nightstand.

“I enjoyed it,” he mumbled, moving his lips along her breast—not quite a kiss, but more just feeling her skin. “Next time, I might tie you up.” He looked up at her to see her reaction.

“We’ll see,” she smiled, running her thumb over the scar on his eyebrow. “But I might bite you, even tied up.” He looked down at his chest, appraising the darkening marks.

“I’ll be sore tomorrow,” he noted, before rubbing her thigh. “So will you.”

“Hot bath,” she muttered, closing her eyes. “Later…. Maybe tomorrow….”

“Mmm… sounds nice.” She could feel him settling, dragging her leg over his body and cuddling up to her. “Nap?”

“Mmhmm.” She rolled so that he could properly drape her over him.

“Happy day-of-your-birth, milady.”

“Thank you.” They were quiet. “What did you have downstairs?”

“Ah. Cake. Flowers.” A pause, and then she nearly fell off the bed when he sat up abruptly. “Damn!”

“What?” He stared at the opposite wall. “What!?”

“I forgot to cover the cake… I thought we’d be eating it....”

“And?”

“And, Constantine was—is—downstairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Afterword: 
> 
> There was nary a crumb left by the time they made it downstairs. Now, if you’ll need me, I’ll be hiding from this sin for the rest of my known life.


End file.
